Friends With Benefits? Not So Much
by musicprincess1990
Summary: "Let me just begin by saying that I am not a slut." Harry and Hermione explore new aspects of their relationship. Previous title: "Hermione Granger, Woman of Questionable Morals." Please review!
1. First Kiss

_A/N: Hey, everybody! Hope you all enjoy this little plot bunny! Not sure where it's going to take me, but I'm excited to find out! :D_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing_

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><p>Let me just begin by saying that I am <em>not<em> a slut.

Though, personally, I think the term is hideous and ridiculous in every way. There is no such thing as a slut. There are women with questionable morals, there are girls who like to wear more revealing attire, and then there are those who just simply have an active love life. But "slut" is a disgusting word that shouldn't be used.

In any case, I am none of these things.

Or, at least, I wasn't . . . until I graduated from Hogwarts.

It was exactly a year after the great Battle, in which my best friend, Harry Potter, killed Voldemort, and saved the wizarding world. After the battle (well . . . sort of _during_ the battle, too), I started courting Ron Weasley, my _other_ best friend. We'd been fighting our feelings for the better half of the previous seven years, with a classic love-hate relationship. Finally, we gave a relationship a try. And it was great, for most of our repeated seventh year.

Over the Easter holidays, though, Ron fell in love with Luna Lovegood. I didn't blame him; she was beautiful, strange, and apparently, extremely captivating. And she was quite smart, despite her . . . oddity. And she'd been an unwaveringly loyal friend.

Ron, thankfully, had enough chivalry and presence of mind to at least _try_ to ignore his mounting attraction to the blonde. Unfortunately, on the last day of the holiday, he realized that his feelings could not be disregarded. He came to me, assured me that he'd been faithful, but he no longer felt the spark between us that had been there for over seven years. I felt the same way, and we parted with greater respect and appreciation for each other.

The "Golden Trio," as we discovered we'd been dubbed, graduated with honors, and I was the top of the class. Both Harry and I were asked to give a brief speech at the ceremony. Mine was . . . well, not exactly brief. I had a lot to say about the things I had learned, the friends I'd made, and the teachers I'd had the privilege to associate with. This took a total of about fifteen minutes. Harry's really_ was_ brief, and far more moving. He simply stood at the podium, looked over his fellow graduates for a few seconds, then talked about how Hogwarts had been his first true home. He didn't blubber, but I thought I saw a few tears escape those emerald-colored eyes. And the audience cheered for him as he returned to his seat beside me on the stand.

Then, the Hogwarts Class of 1999 tossed their pointed caps into the air, celebrating the end of the best seven years of their lives.

Later that night, a colossal party was thrown in the Great Hall for the graduates (the other students had gone home just after the ceremony). The Weird Sisters played for a few minutes, and Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas deejayed between their performances. There was food, games, dancing, and lots of . . . _illicit_ activities. Half our class was drinking or snogging, or _both_. I even spotted Ginny Weasley getting _very _comfortable with one Draco Malfoy. (I wasn't sure if Ron had noticed this yet, but for Ginny's sake, I decided _not_ to inform him of it.)

It didn't take long for me to get bored of the party. Within twenty minutes, I was on my way up to the Room of Requirement.

On the way, however, I heard a loud "Psst!" as I walked past a suit of armor. Warily, I glanced at the statue. "Erm . . . you talking to me, there, Lancelot?"

A moment later, Harry's head appeared in front of the helmet. "Very funny," he deadpanned. "Where are you off to?"

"Room of Requirement," I told him. "Why are you masquerading as a knight?"

He glared. "I'm not. I'm hiding."

I raised an eyebrow. "May I ask from what?"

"From my fangirls."

Sighing, I nodded my head in understanding. Harry had always had a small bundle of fangirls that wanted to get close to him, simply for his fame. And that number had increased exponentially with the event of Voldemort's defeat—by _him_. Harry could barely even leave his dormitory in the morning without being bombarded by a dozen or so squealing girls, ages 13-17, trying desperately to get a piece of him.

"You poor thing," I tutted, then I smiled. "You know, you could come with me. I could use the company, and I'm sure you won't mind being that much harder for the little bimbos to find."

He beamed. "Thanks, Hermione! You're brilliant, as always."

Re-covering himself with the hood of his cloak, Harry disappeared from view, and the only evidence that he was even following me, was the sound of his footsteps just behind me. I smiled cordially and even vocally greeted a few passersby, but none of them paused for longer than it took to say "Hello." They were all hurrying to get to the party that we had just left.

Before long, we were on the seventh floor, which was, fortunately, deserted.

Harry removed his cloak as I did the necessary pacing. The usual door appeared, and he opened it for me, ushering me inside.

The room was simple and quaint, just what I knew we'd need. It was a similar setup to the sitting room in my own home, but slightly larger, with lighter colors, and a few more pieces of furniture. It had a large, tan sofa, made of microfiber, I believed, and four matching chairs, placed symmetrically on either side of the sofa. A dark oak coffee table was placed in the center, and opposite the sofa was a grand fireplace. And covering most of the usual stone floor was a beautiful, Persian rug.

Harry let out a low whistle. "Gotta hand it to you, 'Mione," he said with a grin, "this is better than anything _I _could've come up with."

I smiled. "Thank you, Harry. Now let's sit, shall we?"

The hours passed comfortably as Harry and I conversed and reminisced. When it got cold, I started a fire, and Harry, through his thoughts, produced a large afghan for us to snuggle beneath. As it got later, and we grew warmer, our conversation died down, and we simply sat on the sofa, cuddled together under the blanket, staring into the flickering flames.

"This is nice," Harry said suddenly. "Thanks, Hermione."

I smiled up at him. "My pleasure."

The right corner of his lips turned upward in a half-smile, making him look incredibly handsome in the fading light of the dying embers. I was suddenly hyper-aware of how close our faces were, and of the curve of his lips.

"Hermione?" he whispered, and my mouth went dry. I swallowed thickly, and forced myself to look away from his lips and into his eyes. They were a bit glazed, as if he was confused by something. Could it be that he was experiencing the same, strange emotions that I was?

"Yes, Harry?"

He licked his lips, then he said in a low voice, "I, er . . . for some time now, I've. . . I've been wondering . . . what it would be like . . . for me to kiss you."

I gasped. "Kiss _me_?"

"Well . . . yeah. It's just . . . something I've been curious about for a while, and . . . I kind of want to try it. But only if you do, that is," he added hastily. "I'm not going to just force myself on you and start snogging you against your will. I just . . . I want to try it. Just once. Just to see what it would be like." He bit his lip. "Your call."

My mind spun with the enormity of what he'd just suggested. He wanted to snog. He wanted to snog _me_. He wanted to snog me, just once, to see how it would feel, and then never do it again. Part of me wanted to be miffed, and even slightly offended, but I knew that Harry wasn't trying to hurt me. He was just a curious, hormonal teenage boy, who wanted to try something new. And he was also my best friend. So what harm could it do?

"I suppose . . . we could try it," I whispered. "Just this once."

Harry's eyes sparkled with excitement, and he smiled that little half-smile, before slowly leaning toward me. I took a shaky breath to brace myself, unsure of what this could do to our friendship, and our future. Would he regret asking? Would he think I was a bad kisser? I hadn't had a whole lot of practice; even when I was with Ron, we kept the snogging to a minimum, because we were both studying for N.E.W.T.'s and such. Yes, _both_. Ron got mostly E's and O's on his exams, and he did it with only a _little_ help from me.

But anyways, back to the situation at hand: my forthcoming snog with Harry.

Would he like it? Would he like _me_? Did he _fancy_ me? Or was this really just a one-time curiosity fling? And why was I stressing over it so much? Why did I care what he thought about my kissing?

I didn't have any more time to dwell on these thoughts, though, because right at that moment, Harry's lip brushed, ever so softly, against mine.

And then, my whole world shifted.

The kiss was very brief, and completely chaste, but it sent my mind reeling, and my pulse racing. His lips were soft, and his scent—fresh, clean air, warm grass, and the slightest hint of cologne—was magnified by our close proximity. The combination was intoxicating. I felt myself leaning in, moving closer, and inhaling deeply that heady aroma that was so thoroughly Harry. And then, he was kissing me again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again.

And his arms wound around my waist, pulling me even closer. His lips claimed mine yet again, and lingered there for several glorious seconds. My head swam from the adrenaline rush his kiss provided. I had never known such ecstasy, such rapture, as I was experiencing right then.

He whispered my name, and I momentarily lost control. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and crushed his lips with mine, silently begging him to close what little distance remained between us. He did . . . just not in the way I expected.

I let out a small "_Meep!_" of surprise as something closed around my left breast. His hand froze there, and his whole body stiffened. We sat completely still, staring at each other, neither of us sure what to think.

Then, abruptly, the stillness broke, and we flew apart like shrapnel. Harry ran his hands through his hair as I hugged my knees against my stomach. We were both facing the fireplace now, the afghan lying forgotten in a heap on the floor.

"Wow," Harry rasped out.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Yeah," I muttered through tight lips.

"That was . . ."

"Interesting," I finished for him.

"Yeah."

Several beats of silence followed, and then I found myself turning to look at him. As I did, he mirrored the action, and our eyes met for a split second. Then, at the same time, our heads snapped forward, both of us staring pointedly at the fireplace.

"I'm tired," he said, standing abruptly. His behavior contradicted this announcement, but I thought it best not to point this out. "See you tomorrow."

I gulped. "Yeah. See you."

Harry couldn't get out of the room fast enough. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees in his absence. I shivered and reached down to grab the afghan, and then I wrapped it around me. It was another hour or so before I started getting sleepy, and made my way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was empty, thankfully, and I sprinted up the stairs and into my dormitory, closing the door quietly behind me. The other girls were either already asleep, or missing. For once, I couldn't bring myself to care. I quickly changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed.

But once my head hit the pillow, I was wide awake, and one thought was echoing in my brain, the same thought that had been plaguing it for the last hour, since Harry's lips left mine:

_What in the bloody hell was that?_

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><p><em>AN: Ooh, intrigue! ;D This is already so much fun to write! Hopefully, I'm better at getting chapters up in this one than I am in my others. Sigh. I'm sorry, you guys. But I hope that, instead of storming my house with tar and feathers, you leave a review, telling me what you think about this story! Sound good? Excellent! Loves!_


	2. Train Rides and Titles

_A/N: Another chapter! Huzzah! :D Hope you enjoy it!_

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><p>I barely slept all night, tossing and turning as I relived every second of my interlude with Harry in my mind. He really was a fantastic kisser. And I must have been better than I thought, because he'd been enjoying himself enough to move from snogging to groping in under thirty seconds.<p>

But then I'd freaked out, not ready for that kind of step, and the moment had ended.

And I was feeling very confused.

Breakfast was torture. Harry ended up sitting right beside me, and any time either of us spoke or moved in the slightest, the other would blush and stiffen. Fortunately, the only people that might have commented on this—Ron and Luna—were far too absorbed in their strange, romantic little bubble to notice.

The train ride didn't start out much better. Ron and Luna made googly-eyes at each other for a full twenty minutes, while Harry and I sat in complete silence, looking at anything but each other, and our besotted companions. Then, our compartment was invaded by Ginny, Neville Longbottom, and Seamus Finnegan. They played several games of Wizard Chess, and talked about Quidditch. It was at this point that Harry joined in the conversation, and seemed to have become himself again. I, however, remained silent and still, and the picture of awkwardness. It only got worse when the topic shifted to Ginny's relationship—whatever it may be—with Draco Malfoy, and then it became a full-on row, between the two Weasleys. By the time they finished arguing, we were almost to London, and it was just the four of us, once again, and the couple opposite me and Harry resumed their lovestruck staring.

After a few minutes, though, Luna piped up. "What's wrong?"

We looked at her in confusion. "Whatever do you mean?" I asked.

"You two are awfully quiet," she observed in her dreamy voice. "Usually by now, you would be talking to each other, or perhaps scolding Ron and I for being too publicly affectionate. Or you would have left."

Ron considered that for a second. "She's right. You are being pretty quiet."

I shrugged. "Tired."

"Didn't sleep well," Harry agreed.

"Long day."

"Long year."

"Stuff on my mind."

"Yeah, stuff."

The other two paused for a moment, then Luna gave a small shrug, and rose fluidly to her feet. "Come, Ron," she said, taking his hand. "Whatever it is, they don't want to tell us. Let's just leave them to work it out."

Ron nodded and followed her out of the compartment, but not before casting a wary glance at us.

I felt myself blush. "Well," I muttered, "that's not at all embarrassing."

"Not at all," Harry ground out sarcastically.

Then we sat in _more_ silence for three full minutes. I alternated between wringing my hands and drumming my fingers on the seat, while Harry's leg bobbed up and down, demonstrating his obvious discomfort. Finally, I'd had enough. I shot to my feet and cast a silencing charm on the compartment to make it more private. Then, I sat down across from Harry.

"This is ridiculous," I said firmly, looking directly at him. "We've fought too hard and suffered too much to let one little kiss like this ruin _eight years_ of friendship."

"Well, that was hardly just 'one little kiss,' Hermione," Harry pointed out. "It was several kisses."

I nodded, allowing that. "Several kisses and one moderate grope."

Harry shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sorry about that," he mumbled. "I was just . . ."

"Caught up in the moment?" I guessed.

"Basically."

"I figured as much." Somehow, my voice came out sounding bitter and surly.

Harry noticed, and frowned. "What does that mean?"

I tried to shrug it off. "Nothing, really. I just . . . figured that the reason you did it was because you were getting . . . well, hormonal. Not because of anything else."

"Anything else being . . .?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know. What other reasons would there be?" He was silent, and I gave a curt smile. "My point exactly. I couldn't think of any other reasons, myself."

"So you chalked it up to me being a horny bloke?" Now it was his turn to be bitter and surly, with a dash of incredulity thrown in.

"No, Harry, that's not—"

Before I could finish, Harry grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. I squeaked in surprise, my whole body going rigid. But it took me all of five seconds to respond to his kiss. God, his lips were soft . . . and they felt so good against mine. And that smell . . . that heavenly, intoxicating Harry-smell . . . it was as if somebody had shoved a cauldron of Amortentia under my nose. Every scent I'd ever liked, and even a few scents I hadn't thought I _would_ like (until last night, that is), surrounded Harry in a sort of fragrant aura, pulling me closer, urging me to hold on tighter.

Harry pulled away slowly, and I followed him, feeling hurt that he'd ended such a beautiful moment. But when my lips didn't find his again, I opened my eyes, and I realized he had something to say. I leaned back, waiting.

"Maybe I am just randy," he murmured. "Maybe this is all hormones." He leaned in closer, so close that I could smell his toothpaste from brushing his teeth a little under an hour ago. His voice was dangerously low as he went on, "Or maybe I just like kissing you. Ever think of that?"

I stared open-mouthed at him for several seconds. "You . . . you like kissing me?"

He grinned, and instead of answering verbally, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. That was all the answer I needed. My hands moved into his hair as his arms snaked around my waist. Wordlessly, I pulled my wand out of my pocket, drew the shutters closed, and added a charm to make people forget why they were coming to this compartment, should anyone try to approach. Then, once that was done, I dropped my wand and let it clatter to the floor, putting all my concentration into kissing Harry.

This time, Harry's hands stayed safely on my back, or at my sides. They never strayed to any questionable areas. His mouth, however, did things no other person, not even Ron, had done before. As the kiss went on, I felt his lips part, and his tongue flickered against my closed lips. I was tempted to pull back, but instinct took over, and I opened my lips to him. That tongue reached into my mouth and rubbed against mine, eliciting a pleasurable moan from deep within my throat. I gave into my impulses again, and repeated the action on him. He reacted similarly, with a throaty sigh, and he tightened his hold on me. I felt his hands splayed across my back, pressing me against him, and I arched my back to oblige to this wordless request. Chest against chest, I could feel his pulse, racing in rhythm with my own. I smiled against his lips, proud of myself for affecting him as he was affecting me.

"God, Hermione," Harry whispered as things began to slow down. "When did you get so good at this?"

I giggled softly. "I have no idea. I've never kissed anyone like this before."

He looked at me with wide eyes. "Really? Not even Ron?"

"Ron and I barely had the time to kiss at all," I admitted, "let alone like this."

"Really?" Harry repeated.

"Really," I shrugged. "I was busy with . . . well . . . being _me_—" Harry smiled at that, "—and he was busy trying to be someone worthy of me. His words, not mine."

"Hmm," was all he said.

I gave another shrug. "It just wasn't right, Ron and me. And now, seeing him with Luna, the way they so obviously love each other, I know it was for the best."

He grinned. "Well, you're right about him and Luna. The two of them can be rather sickening at times."

Laughing, I swatted him on the arm. After our laughter died down, though, we found ourselves looking into each other's eyes, not unlike we had seen Ron and Luna doing just minutes prior. I was prompted to ask one thing.

"So, what is this now?"

Harry seemed surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," I said. "It's obvious that we both greatly enjoy snogging one another." Harry smirked, and I blushed. "And I don't know about you, but _I_ would certainly like to see similar occurrences in the future. But I don't know if I want a relationship. I don't want to risk ruining our friendship. I know that doesn't always happen, but I don't even want to take that chance."

"I agree," Harry said, then his smirk grew. "Especially the part about having similar occurrences in the future."

"Okay," I grinned.

"Okay."

"So then, what does that make us?"

"I believe the correct term is 'friends with benefits.'"

I snorted. "That's so cheesy."

"Do you have a better name for it?"

"Not really."

"Well, then, stop complaining."

I rolled my eyes, but then I was all business. "Okay, I just want to make a few things abundantly clear."

"Ooh, she's formal, now," Harry teased. I smacked his arm again, and he nodded to indicate that he was listening. I took a deep breath, and began.

"The minute either of us finds someone we want to pursue a relationship with, then we cut the benefits part."

"Got it."

"And we never mention this to _anyone_," I added, putting great stress on the last word. "I mean it. Not even Ron and Luna. This is strictly between the two of us."

"Mum's the word."

"And this doesn't go beyond snogging." Harry's eyes widened. "Your hands will _not_ venture into unwanted territory, Mr. Potter. That means no arse, and no chest. And _absolutely_ no sex."

"Figures," he rolled his eyes.

"Hey!"

"Hermione, relax!" he said with a slight smile. "We'll be careful."

"Okay."

He smiled and leaned forward. "So, can I kiss you now?"

I blushed. "We should find Luna and Ron."

"That could be lethal," Harry shook his head. "Merlin only knows what they're up to right now. We could find them in some compartment, in a similar position to us, but with far less clothing, and far messier hair."

I shuddered. "Ugh, mental image, be gone!"

Harry laughed, and lifted a hand to gently stroke my cheek. "Shall I distract you?"

Sighing, I glanced at my watch. "We have ten minutes till we reach Kings Cross."

"Then I guess we'd better make it last, eh?"

With a smirk, Harry closed the limited space between us, and proceeded to kiss me senseless. I forgot all about my other two friends, and whatever it was they were doing. All my thought was bent on the amazingly talented young man in front of me.

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><p><em>AN: Recently edited, all little mistakes fixed (I think). Hope you liked it! Please leave a review!_


	3. Three Years Later

_A/N: Yet another chapter! Woot! This one should be interesting. ;) Happy reading!_

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><p><em>Three years later . . .<em>

I groaned sleepily as my alarm rang ominously throughout my bedroom. I groped for the snooze button on my alarm clock, neither opening my eyes nor lifting my head from my pillow. It was smushed in just the right way beneath the left side of my face, and even the slightest movement was sure to ruin it. I wanted to enjoy it for a few more minutes.

Unfortunately, I found, as I pressed down on the button, the annoying sound didn't cease. I opened my eyes, confused, and looked at the clock. _Bloody hell_. It was only three in the morning! A second later, I registered that the noise I was hearing was coming from my mobile phone. The device was on my nightstand beside the clock, and was flashing and buzzing, along with being painfully loud.

I groaned again, tempted to just let it ring. But then I caught sight of the name on my caller ID: Harry.

Uh-oh.

Harry never called this late, unless it was important.

Somewhat reluctantly, I turned in bed so that I could sit up, then I picked up the phone and pressed the green button. "Harry?"

"Sorry to wake you, Hermione," his familiar bass drawl greeted my ear.

"What's wrong?"

He hesitated, then, in a clipped voice, said, "Dianne's gone."

I frowned. "What?"

"She's gone, Hermione. She left me."

I closed my eyes, letting out a sigh. "Tell me," I prodded gently.

He sighed, too, then began. "Well, we had a big row earlier today, and she said she was going for a walk. I went to bed around eleven, and then I woke up sometime in the night, because I heard her come in. I didn't think anything of it, I just figured she was done with her walk. But then I woke up about ten minutes ago, and there was a note on my nightstand. From her."

"She left a note?" I asked distastefully. "What did it say?"

"Some garbage about how she feels like she's mistreated, and that she really loves me, but this is for the best."

I scoffed. "That's ridiculous. You treated the girl like a queen."

"I know!"

"What does she expect, a diamond necklace for every day of the week?" I paused for a moment, then switched to sympathetic mode. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

"Yeah, well." He cleared his throat. "It's not like I didn't see it coming. We've been having problems for a few weeks, now."

I knew this already, because Harry had called me after each row. It was sort of a given, nowadays, that whenever either of us had problems, we called each other.

Our "friends with benefits" interlude from three years ago had ended up being the best choice we could have made. It helped our friendship so much. We respected each other more, and we gained a deeper understanding of one another. And the snogging was just plain fun.

That part, however, only lasted for the summer after graduation. As Harry entered Auror training, and I entered Healing school, we each found prospective partners, and agreed it was time to put the "benefits" to rest. We knew our friendship was still intact, and stronger than it had ever been, so we felt no dismay. And over the next few years, we went through quite a few relationships. During these relationships, we would call each other with the good news, and the bad news. First dates, first kisses, first fights, _worst_ fights, and breakups. And between breakups, if we both happened to be single, we would resurrect the benefits for the duration. (This happened rarely, though, so our snogging was decreased significantly.)

Then, about a year and a half ago, Harry met Dianne. They seemed perfect for each other. Harry even admitted to me once that she was nearly everything he'd ever hoped for in a future wife. I encouraged their relationship, happy to see Harry happy. Everything seemed to be going well. At least, that was what I assumed, when Harry asked her to move in with him. That was a first for him. And they'd recently started talking marriage.

But now . . . Dianne had left, claiming to have been mistreated. And though I knew he was trying to hide it, I could tell Harry was very upset about her reason.

"Anything I can do to help?" I asked, like always.

He sighed. "Not right now. It's too early. I'll call you after work, okay?"

I bit my lip; he was hiding something. But I wasn't going to try and force it out of him. It probably wouldn't work, anyway. And even if it did, it would take at least two hours of him changing the subject, and me eventually cornering him with no other way _to_ change the subject, before he'd spill anything. And I had to be to work at seven, so it wasn't worth it this time.

Besides, I would have the opportunity to pry when he called.

"Okay," I said. "Talk to you later."

"Bye."

The line went dead, and I sighed. I'd never heard so much conflict and pain in his voice after a breakup. Usually, he just said something along the lines of, "It wasn't right, and we're better people for it." Then, we would move on to other topics of conversation, and forget all about the breakup.

But just now, he'd sounded tormented.

I would have to do some serious comforting when we talked tomorrow.

With these thoughts, I rolled over, and eventually fell asleep.

The day passed slowly, with very few maladies and accidents in the Pediatric Ward of St. Mungo's. I took my fair share of naps, as did the other Healers, and took extra-good care of those who _did_ come in. Then, at last, it was five o'clock: time to leave.

I kept my phone near as I gathered the things I needed to take home; I knew Harry would be getting off soon, as well, if he wasn't already. Sure enough, just as I was leaving the hospital at ten after five, the phone rang.

"How are you feeling?" I asked him.

"About the same," he sighed. "Hurt, confused, and a little angry."

"It'll get better," I assured him.

"Yeah. Listen, I'm not actually off just yet. It's been a crazy day today. Lots of psycho wizards causing havoc, for some reason, plus mountains of paperwork. I was lucky to get this little break, but I figured I should at least call you."

I sighed inwardly. "Okay, get back to work. I'd hate to see you get into trouble with Kingsley because you're shirking your duties." My voice was laced with sarcasm. Kingsley Shackelbolt was more than just the Minister of Magic to us. He was also a good friend. And I knew, and I knew _Harry_ knew, that Kingsley wouldn't mind him taking five minutes to call me.

Harry didn't seem to notice my sarcasm, though. He pressed on, "Yeah, so I'll have to owe you one. I _should_ be done by seven. Dinner at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Figuring that was the best offer I would get from him at this point, I accepted, and then he hung up. With another sigh, I put the phone in my purse, and apparated to my apartment.

I hung my purse by the door and went into the bathroom to shower. I stayed in a bit longer than necessary, relishing in the warm, soothing water. After my shower, I went into my room and started getting ready for my dinner with Harry. I picked a nice floral dress, with a low V-neck and short, flowy sleeves. After a few minutes of deliberation, I decided I should curl my hair, and leave it down. I retrieved my wand from the bathroom, and started with the bottom layer.

At quarter after six, I was surprised to hear a knock on my door. I let my half-curled hair slide out of my left hand, set down my wand, and answered the door. It wasn't, Harry, though. It was my current boyfriend, Jack Templeton. And he looked as surprised as I felt.

"Got a hot date?" he asked warily, taking in my attire, and my half-finished hairstyle.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a date," I said, stepping back to let Jack in. "Harry's girlfriend left him last night. I'm taking him to dinner."

Jack lifted an eyebrow. "Sounds like a date to me."

I sighed for what seemed like the billionth time in the last twenty-four hours. Harry's presence in my life had, somehow, become a sore point with Jack. And though he wasn't _entirely_ incorrect in assuming that there was more than friendship between us, he wasn't _correct_, either. His assumption was that Harry and I had dated, and still harbored feelings for one another. Preposterous! It made me a little angrier each time he even suggested it.

"Not this again, Jack," I said, my hands on my hips. "It's just _dinner_. We'll eat, I'll tell him there's someone better out there, we'll hug good night, and that'll be it."

"Will it?"

"Yes."

"No," he shook his head. "I'm sick of this, Hermione! I'm sick of you guys tiptoeing around me, thinking I don't notice a damn thing!"

"Here we go," I muttered.

"Stop acting like it's all in my head!" he shouted.

"It _is_ all in your head!" I yelled back.

"No it's not! I see the way he looks at you! The way _you_ look at _him_! Like you've got some juicy secret you're keeping from the whole world! And I'm not going to stand by and ignore it anymore!" He paused for a moment. "It's me or him, Hermione."

I stared at him, shocked and appalled at what he'd just said. He'd given me a bloody _ultimatum_. Stupid decision, Jack. _Very_ stupid.

Without even a moment's hesitation, I replied evenly, "Him."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me," I said, folding my arms. "Him."

"Seriously?"

"You asked me to choose between my best friend and the guy who's making up a bunch of petty stories in his head. It's a no-brainer. _Him_."

Jack's eyes narrowed into a scowl. "Fine. Just fine." He turned to leave, then seemed to have thought of something else, and he faced me again. "I really hope your little secret is worth all of this."

I rolled my eyes. "You can go now, Jack," I snapped. "Go!"

"Fine. I'm going."

The door closed, and I groaned in exasperation. After a few minutes of fuming, I returned to my room, sat down at the mirror, and resumed curling my hair. I didn't give any more thought to what Jack had said. It wasn't important.

Harry was important.

And Harry would be here soon. I took a deep breath, and put Jack in my past.

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><p><em>AN: Another not-so-great ending. I'm sorry. But I had to cut this chapter down, because it was just getting way too long. Next one will be up soon! Review! 3_


	4. A Perfect Night

_A/N: And they just keep coming! :D Another happy chapter! Enjoy!_

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><p>Harry came at seven-thirty. I answered the door, unsurprised to find him staring very determinedly at something down the hall. Something that, in all probability, wasn't even there. Then he realized the door had been opened, and he turned to look at me. His eyes looked tired, and filled with regret. I instantly forgot about my own troubles, and pulled Harry into a hug. He seemed hesitant, but soon hugged me back, sighing into my hair.<p>

As I pulled away, I gave him a sad smile. "Let's go eat," I said simply.

The Leaky Cauldron was busy, as always, and even now, it held the promise of a new life. I smiled, and voiced this thought to Harry. He just shrugged and mumbled something incoherent. I started feeling irritated, and was about to confront him, when Tom appeared, ready to lead us to a table.

"Actually, Tom," I said, "I think we're going to have to take a rain check. I forgot about something I have to do, and it can't wait till morning. I'm very sorry."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Not to worry, Miss Granger. I'll look forward to seeing you in the near future, yes?"

I smiled graciously, ignoring Harry's confused look. "Definitely. Sometime later this week, I think. Have a good night," I added, then ushered Harry out.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"You!" I pointed a finger at him, the tip of it inches from his face. He jumped back, his eyes crossing as he looked at the finger invading his personal space. "You are not acting like yourself, Harry James Potter. Tell me what's wrong _right now_."

He rolled his eyes. "My girlfriend just left me, Hermione. Don't you think that might have a little something to do with it?"

"Don't give me that," I glared at him. "There's more to it. I know it, you know it, so how about you just get on with it? Hmm? Tell me, or get another lecture."

"There's nothing else!" he shouted. "Okay? I know you always think everyone has an ulterior motive for every damn thing they do, but this time, I'm just heartbroken over my now _ex_-girlfriend!"

For a few moments, I allowed myself to simply stare at him. Harry hadn't been this angry and rude since our fifth year. Whatever it was that he wasn't telling me, it was _really_ bothering him. So I abandoned scolding-mode, and switched gears.

"I'm sorry, Harry," I said. "I know it hurts."

His eyes rolled again. "Please. You can't possibly know how this feels. Every breakup you've had to go through has ended amicably."

I looked down. "Not every breakup."

That caught his attention. Harry turned to me, frowning. "What do you mean?"

I looked down. "I was going to wait and tell you tomorrow, after we'd had a nice dinner, and you were feeling better about the whole Dianne situation. But I guess I might as well tell you now." I closed my eyes for a minute, then sighed and looked at him. "Jack broke up with me earlier this evening."

Just like that, Harry became the over-protective best friend. "He _what?_"

"Calm down," I attempted, but it was no use.

"What the hell is his problem? Why did he break up with you?"

I swallowed hard. "He . . . it just wasn't right."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "_Now_ who's hiding something they don't want to talk about?"

"You tell me, I'll tell you," I countered.

He wavered slightly, and he lowered his gaze to his feet. "I don't know how to tell you," he admitted, his voice quiet and surprisingly vulnerable.

"Well, you start by opening your mouth, and you move your lips, teeth, and tongue to form the words—"

"_Not_ what I meant, Hermione." His tone suggested agitation, but I caught the hint of a smirk on his lips. Satisfied, I remained silent, waiting for him to speak. After a moment, he started walking, and I followed. He didn't start talking until we reached a nearby park, and gestured for me to sit on a bench.

"Hmm, where to start?" Harry sighed as he sat beside me. "Well . . . when you broke up with what's-his-name earlier this year—"

"William," I provided.

"That's right, William. When you broke up with him, and I took you to Hogsmeade for the day, that didn't sit too well with Dianne. She was furious when I got home."

I nodded. "I remember. You called me that night."

"Yes, I did. But . . . I didn't give you all the details of the conversation." He paused, allowing me to digest this. I waited a moment, then nodded again, indicating that he should continue. "I told you that she was upset that I'd been gone all day. And that was part of it. But mostly, she was upset that I was with _you_ all day."

"Excuse me?" I asked, stunned.

"She accused me of abandoning her, of putting you above her. She said, 'If she's so important to you, then maybe you should have _her_ move in.' And she kept spouting out garbage about me cheating on her with you, and how we always seem to be keeping secrets—well, that's not really garbage—but she assumed it was. . ." He trailed off, looking at me in confusion. "You seem less than surprised."

I bit my lip, looking down. "Well . . . Jack broke up with me for almost the same reason." Harry's eyebrows flew up. I went on, "He seems to think that we're madly in love with each other, and we've dated in the past, but we keep trying to suppress our true feelings."

"That's . . . wow," Harry muttered. "I don't even know what to say to that."

"Pretty much my same reaction."

There was a pause, and then he spoke again. "Except . . . what a coincidence that both our significant others have the same reason for ending our relationships, right around the same time. And that reason really isn't _that_ far from the truth."

I stared at him. "It's not?"

He shrugged. "They're right about us having a secret, aren't they?"

"Well . . . yes."

"And though I think Dianne has misconstrued my motives, she was right about you being top priority. You're my best friend, for crying out loud. I've known you a lot longer than I've known her. Of course you come first!"

"That's kind of what I said to Jack," I informed him. "He basically told me to choose you or him. I told him it was a no-brainer."

Harry grinned. "It's good to know I'm more important than that douche bag."

I rolled my eyes, but laughed. "And I'm glad you picked our friendship over that stupid bimbo."

"Course," he said, draping an arm over my shoulders. "What are friends for?"

Smiling, I laid my head on his shoulder. His thumb rubbed circles on the bare skin of my shoulder, causing a trail of gooseflesh to erupt. I shivered involuntarily, and Harry removed his jacket, insisting that I wear it. Once I had pushed my arms through the sleeves, Harry's arm resumed its position around me, pulling me close to him. I sighed happily, letting my eyes flutter closed.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

Pause. "Do you remember the last time we kissed?"

That was unexpected. I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. "Did you really expect me to forget?"

He smiled sheepishly. "No, I didn't. I was just . . . making conversation."

"Ah," I smirked. "I see. Well, to answer your question, yes, I do."

He was quiet for a few seconds, then he asked, "How long has it been, exactly?"

I took a moment to mentally calculate the months, then replied, "It's been almost two years, I think."

"Wow," he whispered. "That's a long time."

"I guess."

"And what exactly happened?" I frowned at him, more and more confused. He gave a little hitch of the shoulders. "My memory's a little fuzzy. Refresh it?"

I sighed. "I had just broken up with Adrian, and you'd stopped seeing that girl Emily a few weeks prior. I showed up at your place with a bottle of wine and the news that I was single again. We drank, and we kissed."

Harry scoffed. "If memory serves, we did more than just kiss." He cast a sideways glance at me, and smirked.

"All right, fine, we snogged the living daylights out of each other."

"Sounds about right."

"Where is this coming from anyway, Harry?" I asked suspiciously.

"Just making conversation," he repeated.

"Uh-huh."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Hm. Well, you weren't name the brightest witch of your age for nothing."

I chuckled softly. "Well, come on then. Out with it."

He glanced down, moving his head with his gaze, then looked up at me through long, dark lashes. "What do you say we end that streak tonight?"

"Really?" I ask with a skeptical laugh. "You _really_ want to open that can of worms?"

"Come on, 'Mione. You can't tell me you don't want to."

I spluttered for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to hide the rising blush. "But—I—you—we just broke with our long-term significant others!"

"So?" he shrugged. "Never stopped us before."

"We hadn't been with our significant others for as long before."

"Do you want to?"

I went on as if he hadn't spoken, determined to have my say before anything else happened. "And we weren't so emotionally invested in those relationships—"

"Hermione."

"We were still so young, and still quite immature—"

"Hermione," he repeated in a sing-song voice.

"And it took forever to do my hair tonight, and I'll be damned if you mess it up!"

"Since when do you care about that?"

"Since now," I said matter-of-factly, folding my arms in front of me.

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned his head a fraction of an inch, looking in that direction for a few seconds. Then, as he faced me again, his expression became smug, and extremely seductive. He leaned toward me, his arm sliding along the back of the bench as he moved. I tried to lean back, but he caught me with that arm, and held me exactly where I was. Once again, his scent hit me like a ton of bricks, rendering me incapable of coherent thought.

"_Now_ tell me you don't want it," he whispered huskily.

I exhaled shakily. "That's not fair," I accused.

"Neither is your dress tonight."

I glanced down, having forgotten what I even put on in the first place. When I looked at him again, he was even closer. "I want you to look me in the eye," he whispered, lifting his hand to gently stroke my cheek, "and tell me you don't want to kiss me."

"I don't want . . ." I began, but I couldn't form the words. Harry's lips found my temple, then drew a line down to my neck. I gasped, and my hands moved of their own accord, one gripping his bicep, the other threading my fingers in his soft, ebony locks. He left a trail of kisses from the base of my throat, to my jaw, to my cheek, and to the corner of my lips. Then, cruelly, he paused before kissing my lips directly, making me let out a soft, petulant whine.

"I'm waiting," he murmured. "I haven't heard you say it yet."

A small part of me was tempted to slap him and storm off. But the bigger part knew that even if I did that, I would only get about ten paces before I turned around and flew right back into his arms.

"Harry James Potter," I breathed, "you are positively _cruel_."

And with that, our lips connected, as if a magnetic force had been pulling them together. It was just as I remembered; soft and sweet, yet passionate, and full of raw emotion. But there was something in this kiss that had been absent all the other times. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Whatever it was, though, it made all the difference.

When Harry pulled away, I was left breathless and wanting more. But common sense and fear of consequences forced me to say, "I should probably go." Having said that much, I felt more determined. "I have work early in the morning. And so do you. So we should both get home soon." Harry's eyes were wide, and filling with an emotion akin to despair. I looked away, feeling suddenly dizzy. "I should go," I repeated.

"Don't," he pleaded.

My eyes met his again, and I tried to organize my thoughts into sentences. "Work," I said. "We have . . . work. Early. Sleep. Have to go." Well. Not _quite_ sentences.

"Please," Harry murmured. "Stay."

I felt my resolve crumbling into dust; I was putty in his hands. His arms tightened around me, creating an inescapable cocoon of warmth and affection. Soon, his lips found mine again, and I melted into him, hungry for more. It wasn't long before the kiss became intense, our mouths opening to one another. I was dimly aware of Harry apparating the two of us somewhere. His apartment, I guessed. I opened my eyes for a moment, and confirmed that guess. I allowed him to direct me, as we kissed, assuming that he would lead me to the sofa. We had been there before, in such situations. I had grown rather fond of it, and admittedly, I had missed it.

But it wasn't the sofa that I found myself being lifted onto. It was his bed.

Sirens went off in my head.

"Harry, we really shouldn't—"

"Shh," Harry put a finger to his lips, then kissed me. "Nothing's going to happen."

"Harry—"

He cut me off with another kiss, then moved to lay beside me. Our legs and arms intertwined as we moved closer and closer, kissing deeper and deeper. His hands never strayed from my sides, or my face. If he so much as grazed my breast, he apologized profusely, until I had to shut him up with my lips.

After several minutes—maybe even an hour—we stopped, and laid there in a companionable silence. Harry was now laying on his back, while I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. My right arm was draped across his stomach, and I was nestled in the crook of his left arm, while his hand toyed gently with my now loose curls.

"I didn't think I would miss that so much," I whispered, my eyes closing.

"Neither did I," Harry said.

"We should do it more often," I suggested somewhat nervously. "Like we used to."

"I wholeheartedly concur."

Smiling, I nuzzled closer to Harry, and allowed myself to fall asleep.

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><p><em>AN: Aww! Tender moment! This was a fun chapter to write. I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! Loves!  
><em>


	5. Enter, Daddy Dearest

_A/N: Here's the next installment, everyone. :)_

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><p>"Hermione," a voice called, bringing me into consciousness. "Hermione, wake up."<p>

"Mm-mm." I stretched languorously, not ready to open my eyes. "Ten more minutes, Mum," I said groggily.

The voice chuckled, and I realized it was male. "No, it's Harry."

Oh. Right. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven o'clock."

That did it.

My eyes flew open, and I bolted upright. I was still in Harry's apartment, on his bed, with him lying beside me. The sun was already out. I could hear some birds chirping their morning song right outside the sliding glass door, which led to a balcony. And sure enough, the clock read 6:52. I had eight minutes to get to work.

"Dammit!" I screeched, flinging myself off the bed. Of course, with my luck, I tripped over an article of clothing that had been carelessly left on the floor—_Damn you and your messy habits, Harry!_—and crashed onto the hardwood with a loud thud. My head collided with the dresser in the process, and I hissed in pain, rubbing the sore spot. Then, I jumped to my feet.

"I'm going to be late!" I shouted as I scrambled about the apartment, grabbing my purse, and fixing my hair and makeup as best I could. Eventually, I just gave up, and gathered it all up into a messy bun at the back of my head.

Harry appeared behind me as I did, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection from the mirror. "You'll be fine," he said calmly. "You're one of the best Healers there. They're not going to fire you for being five minutes late."

"That's no excuse," I insisted, fishing three bobby pins out of my purse and using them to hold my hair in place. Somewhat. A few strands fell out, but they were the curly, still-pretty ones. So it worked out. "I still need to be there on time."

With a smirk, Harry wound his arms around my waist from behind, pressing his lips to the side of my throat. I lowered my arms, momentarily thinking that I was glad I'd already finished with my hair. As his lips continued to explore the exposed skin above my neckline, I lost the ability to think clearly. My eyes fluttered shut, and I moaned appreciatively.

"You're cute when you're stressed," Harry murmured, his lips close to my ear. "But sometimes, you just need to relax. Let the chips fall, you know?"

"Work," I persisted weakly. "Late."

"Take a personal day. Come with me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

"But—"

"No buts," he whispered, then I felt him nibble on my earlobe. Thank Merlin I had forgotten to wear earrings last night, or this would be slightly awkward.

It took a while, but I managed to find my voice, and my common sense. "I really want to, Harry, but I can't." As I spoke, I remembered something, and smiled at him. "Tomorrow's Sunday, Harry. I have Sundays off. Why don't we do something special then?"

He sighed. "I suppose that's the best offer I'll get. Okay. Tomorrow."

"Good," I grinned, and gently extricated myself from his grasp. "I'll call you after work today, and we can talk details."

"I can hardly wait," he said with a smile, then kissed me tenderly on the lips.

I was floating all the way to work.

"You, missy, are _incredibly_ lucky," Janet, the receptionist, told me as I walked in.

"Why is that?" I asked, buttoning my white lab-style coat over my dress. I'd added a charm to my hair to keep it somewhat in place, but even so, I was all too aware that I looked like I'd come straight to work from someone else's house. Which was what I _had_ done, but I knew everyone would misconstrue it as . . . _that_.

"Because Healer Thomson left ten minutes ago for a conference in Denmark."

I sighed in open relief. Healer Thomson was the Head my department, and the man hated my guts. Honestly, I didn't know _how_ he managed to get married. His wife must be _very_ tolerant. If I was thirty seconds late, it was recorded, to be used against me at a later date. If my treatment of a patient was a smidgen less than satisfactory, that, too, was recorded. Basically, anything I did that was even a fraction under his standards, he wrote it down, and tormented me with it for at least the next month.

"I could kiss you, Janet," I said, and she smirked. "Really. That's fantastic news."

"I'm sure," her smirk grew. "Nice dress. Date with Jack? Did you finally get over your silly little obsession with staying 'pure'?"

"It's not silly," I snapped. "And it's not about purity, per se. It's about waiting until I find the right person to do it with. The person I know I want to spend the rest of my life with." I paused, then, in a softer voice, I added, "And Jack broke up with me."

"_What?_"

I nodded my head, giving her a tight-lipped smile. "Yesterday, after work."

Janet made a sound of exasperation. "That bastard."

I shrugged. "It's okay. I'm fine, I'm moving on." I smiled widely to prove that fact.

She grinned. "Good to know. So then what's with the walk-of-shame outfit?"

_And there it is. _I scowled at her. "It's not a walk-of-shame outfit. Harry's girlfriend broke up with him yesterday, so I took him out to dinner." I felt the blush rising in my cheeks. "And then it sort of . . . turned into a slumber party."

Janet's eyes became saucers. "You slept with _Harry?_"

"_Shhh!_" I shushed her, glancing at the people walking past. "I did _not_ sleep with Harry. Not like_ that_, anyways. Nothing happened. He just didn't want to be alone."

I felt like I was lying through my teeth, but what choice did I have? I couldn't very well tell her that I was "friends with benefits" with Harry, and that we spent the better half of last night snogging—but not shagging—in his bed. All of London would know within the hour. As much as I loved my morning chats with Janet, she was the biggest gossip I'd ever met.

She rolled her eyes and gathered some papers that were on her desk. "Honey, when are you just going to admit you're crazy about that boy?"

I mimicked her action. "We're just _friends_."

"Whatever you say, Boss."

I snickered at the nickname she'd given me. Though technically, I _wasn't_ her boss, she told me I had "an aura of authority" about me, so she just started calling me Boss to tease me. And then, of course, the nickname stuck.

"I have to make some calls," Janet went on, "and _you_ have some sick kids to take care of. Shoo!" She gave a playful grin as she waved her hand to send me off. I smiled, then headed for my office.

Just as I reached the door, though, Riley, one of the nurses, caught me.

"You'd better come quick, Healer Granger," he said. "There's a girl with severe burns on her arms. And legs. And face."

Instantly, I switched into professional mode. "Spell, potion, or plant?"

He glanced at the clipboard in his hands. "Plant. Bubotuber pus."

I grimaced. "Oh, that's nasty stuff. Okay. I'll be right there. Which room?"

"I put them in three."

"Got it," I said, taking the clipboard from him.

I opened the door to my office, grabbed my clipboard, and a small jar of healing balm. I stuck the balm in the pocket of my coat, then started toward to room three.

When I opened the door, I gasped. Not just because of the girl's condition, though that was definitely part of it. The poor thing had blisters covering every inch of her limbs, and her face. Tears poured out from striking blue eyes, and her blonde hair was matted against her head. I felt a pang of sadness for her, as I did for all the children who came in here. But there was another reason for my surprise, and that reason was the man sitting beside her.

I could tell by the eyes, which were identical to hers, that this man was undoubtedly related to her, most likely her father. That same electric blue peered up at me with great concern, and hope. Hope that this could be taken care of quickly. His sandy hair fell across his forehead, looking incredibly soft. The long-sleeved T-shirt seemed to fit him comfortably, and he appeared quite muscular, but not bulky. Strong. And his smile, though it was tainted with worry, made my stomach quiver.

After a moment, I regained my composure, and put on my professional smile. But it felt a bit larger than usual. "Good morning," I greeted jovially. I looked down at the clipboard. "You must be Samantha Ness."

"Sammie," she said in a broken voice.

I grinned, then turned to the beautiful man next to her. "Patrick Ness," he offered his hand. "Her father."

Just as I thought. I shook his hand eagerly. "I'm Healer Granger."

"Pleasure," he smiled.

I forced myself to turn to Sammie. "Can I see your arm, Sammie?"

With a plaintive sniffle, she lifted her left arm. I gingerly took it in my hands, looking more closely at the burns. They were second degree, but not the worst I'd ever seen by far. I looked over the other arm, and each leg, and found the same. "Tilt your head back, sweetie," I said quietly, then examined her face. For the most part, it was just blisters, but there was one spot on her right cheek that had become a bit discolored. Third degree. That would take some time to heal. But that was what the balm in my pocket was for.

"Okay, Sammie," I began, allowing her to lift her head. "It looks like you've got some pretty bad burns. Now, I've got some healing balm I'm going to put on them. It's going to sting a little, but in ten minutes, you'll be good as new."

She gave a teary smile. "Really?"

I beamed. "Really. Lay down, sweetheart."

As gently as I could, I applied the balm to her skin. She whimpered a few times, but never screamed. This was one well-behaved kid! Her tears increased a bit as I hit the spot on her face; I knew that was bound to hurt more. I added an extra layer to that area. That, alone, wouldn't get rid of the burn, but it would at least keep it from scarring today.

"There," I said with a smile. "Now lie very still. Can you do that?" She nodded. "Now I'm going to run out and check a few things. Just stay here with your daddy."

I turned and left quickly, doing all I could not to glance back at "daddy." My heart was pounding, with confusion. I'd seen many attractive fathers, uncles, and older brothers while working here. And though many of them had tried to flirt with me, I hadn't given even one of them a second thought. I was there for the patient, not to give out my number. Besides, most of them were married, anyway, and I did not support cheating at _all_.

But now, suddenly, I was immensely attracted to the father of one of my patients.

And he could very well be married, too.

I took care of the few things that needed tending to, and signed a release form for one of my other patients—a four-year-old boy who'd had a nasty experience with a venomous tentacula—then headed back to Sammie and her father.

Just as I predicted, the lower-degree burns were gone. She was still lying in the same spot as when I'd left, and no longer had tear stains on her face. In fact, she was almost smiling.

"How do you feel now, Sammie?" I asked.

"Good," she grinned.

"I'm glad. Now, let's clean this stuff off, and you can go home."

The cleaning process was quicker and much less painful than the application: a nice, gentle cleansing charm that didn't require any water. When I was done, I smiled at my patient. "There we go. All gone."

Sammie looked at her now unblemished arms, and beamed. Then, suddenly, she flew at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I let out a surprised, "Oh!" but then awkwardly hugged her back. I sent an apologetic glance toward her father, who just shrugged one shoulder and smiled at me. Butterflies erupted in my stomach.

_Don't look at his hand. Don't look, Hermione! Don't!_

I looked.

His hand was bare.

No ring.

But of course, that didn't mean anything. It was early in the morning. It could just mean that he'd been woken up by his injured daughter and had forgotten to put it on. Or maybe it was being cleaned. Or sized. Or something like that.

Sammie thanked me profusely, then hopped down from her seat, and ran toward the reception area, where she must already know the chocolate frogs sat. (They were there for the successfully healed patients on their way out.) Her father laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

"She's . . . spirited," he said, almost to himself more than me.

"I imagine you're never bored," I guessed.

"Definitely not," he laughed. "Hey, thank you so much. That balm stuff is amazing!"

I grinned. "Yes, it is," I agreed, then switched to business mode. "Here's an extra jar for you," I told him, producing an unopened jar, smaller than my own, but with enough balm in it to get rid of the small burn that remained. "There's one spot on her face that was burned more severely. Put this on the burn for ten minutes twice a day, when she wakes up, and just before she goes to bed. It should be gone in a few days. Directions are on the label, too, in case you forget."

He chuckled as he accepted the jar—with his ring-less hand. "Thanks again."

"My pleasure."

With another smile, he turned and walked away. I watched him leave, sad to see him go, while also angry with myself for being sad. He was the father of one of my patients. Forbidden territory. Well, not officially. There were no set rules against it, but I was certain that Healer Thomson would have a cow if he found out.

Better to just let it go.

Nodding determinedly to myself, I turned around, away from Patrick Ness and his daughter, and resolved not to think of them anymore.

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><p>AN: Interesting plot twist, eh? Despite what Hermione thinks, this is _not_ the last we will see of Patrick Ness! More to come soon! Review, please!


	6. Sunday Fun Day!

A/N: SORRY! I know it's been FOREVER! Suffice it to say that school is kicking my trash, and combine that with _zero_ inspiration, and you have the perfect recipe for _not updating when you say you're going to_. In any case, I'm back (yay!), and I'm going to be updating a lot more. I mean it this time! The next chapter is almost finished, (I got most of it done before I even had this chapter halfway done), and should be up soon, and the one after that should be done by the end of this week! And after that, there may be another brief hiatus, as I will have performances (choir) and midterms. Yikes! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Anyways, enough groveling. Read on!

Disclaimer: The Festival described later in this chapter is a real festival. However, as I have never attended it, I don't know if this is really what it's like. I'm just going off of my own imagination. Please don't hate me for it!

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><p>Upon arriving home, I immediately showered and changed into my pajamas. It had been a very long, very tiring day, and I was ready to get out of that infernal dress. I stood an unnecessary twenty minutes in the shower, letting the heat soothe my sore muscles. Once I'd finished, I dried my hair and let it hang in the frizzy, bushy mess that it usually is. I had no plans to go out, and therefore no one to impress.<p>

Then, as I situated myself on my couch, I pulled out my mobile phone and dialed Harry's number. He answered after the first ring. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry," I said, grinning, "it's me."

He sighed in blatant relief. "Thank Merlin. I was afraid you'd changed your mind."

I couldn't help myself; I laughed heartily. "Come now, Harry, I'm not _that_ easy to get rid of. So, what did you want to do tomorrow? I've got the entire day, so we can do just about anything." I regretted the words almost as soon as they'd escaped my lips. Knowing Harry, he'd want to go somewhere, and not likely somewhere nearby. I bit my lip, waiting for him to speak.

"How would you feel about driving to Bath for the day?"

Thought so. "Er... well..."

"You said you'd be up for anything."

"Bath is nearly a hundred miles away! It would take a good two hours to get there, and another two hours to get back!"

"I know," he said calmly. "But you said you have the entire day off. We'll leave in the morning, spend the day there, and come back tomorrow night."

I sighed. "Harry—"

"And I bought us tickets to see _The Magic Flute_ at the Mission Theatre."

"You didn't!" I gasped.

"Interested now?"

He always knew just how to get me. I let out a quiet growl. "Harry Potter, you are a master manipulator, you know that, right?"

"I'd like that written on my tombstone," he chuckled. "So what do you say? Bath and _The Magic Flute_?"

I heaved another sigh. "Fine. Are you driving, or am I?"

"I'll drive. I'll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning."

"Sounds great."

"And make sure you bring a nice dress to change into for the opera. Something very fetching, like that dress you wore last night." I felt myself blush. He chuckled. "I can almost see you blushing right now." And my blush darkened.

"Watch it, you," I scolded, but I couldn't help smiling.

He laughed quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow then, love."

Harry hung up before he could hear my quiet intake of breath. _Love_. He'd called me _love_. Was he trying to say something to me? No, that didn't seem likely. Though he'd never openly declared that he loved me, I knew that he did—as a friend, of course. He signed all his letters, "Love, Harry," and had, on certain occasions, said, "This is why I love you," or a phrase similar to that. And his actions clearly demonstrated that I was very important to him—and I'm not just talking about the snogging. He'd been there for me through the worst of times, as I had for him.

No, this was nothing to get excited over. It was just another little pet name he'd picked for me. Merlin knew he had a thousand of them. Mione, Mi, Herms (that one rarely, since it wasn't my favorite), Teach (I didn't fully understand that one), Doc, and now, apparently, Love. Admittedly, it was better than anything else he might have come up with. I shuddered at the thought of being called "babe," or "bunny," or "sugar cookie." Ugh. Absolutely nauseating.

Feeling that the issue wasn't an important one, I thought no more on the subject. I fixed myself something to eat, and curled up on the couch with my copy of _Emma_.

A perfect evening.

* * *

><p>Annoyingly, Harry was right on time. I had expected him to be a little bit late, so I planned accordingly, and was still in the process of brushing my hair when he came.<p>

"You're supposed to be late," I scolded.

He just laughed. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be better from now on."

I hurried and finished my hair, pulling it into a low ponytail before grabbing the dress I'd picked out for the opera tonight (hidden safely in a bag). Then, Harry and I left the flat, rushing out to the car.

As predicted, Harry took the longest route imaginable. On the way, we sang show tunes, very loudly. It was okay, though, since he had a rather nice voice. I supposed I could hold my own. At least I wasn't hitting too many wrong notes.

After nearly two hours, we arrived in Bath. I gasped at the spectacle before me. The streets were lined with men and women in Regency-period costumes—breeches and tails, empire-waist gowns, bonnets and top hats. Then I realized what must be going on: the Jane Austen Festival.

"No," I breathed, astounded.

Harry chuckled silently. "It started yesterday, which was part of why I wanted you to play hooky. But then I did a little research, found out it was a week-long thing, and I thought, 'Why not? Let's do it!'"

I stared at him, open-mouthed, and smiling. "You, Harry James Potter, are too slick for your own good."

He just gave a little shrug, and we laughed.

Harry took me to all the museums, where we saw various artifacts and important areas from Jane Austen's life, and even stopped and watched a few minutes of a play version of _Pride and Prejudice_. We then went inside a small restaurant, which had been decorated for the time period, and was serving the same kind of food. Harry and I both commented that the meat was rather dry, and the potatoes could use some salt, but it was still pretty good.

After lunch, we went to _Hyde Park_, and walked around for several minutes.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Harry asked.

"Definitely," I smiled. "You've really outdone yourself, Harry."

"Not hardly," he said. "The best is yet to come."

He wasn't kidding. We stopped at a public restroom, where he instructed me to change clothes. Once safely in a stall, I unzipped my dress bag, pulling out the dress I had chosen for the evening. It was a simple, ever-fashionable little black dress; a halter neck, with a not-too-low back, and a flowing skirt that came to my knees. The material was soft and slinky, perfect for a night out. I paired it with a red pea coat, which covered most of the dress, and a pair of black heels. I normally didn't like to wear heels, but tonight, I made an exception (but not without a few charms to keep me from falling on my face, and to ward off the inevitable pain).

After adding some lipstick and re-curling my hair, I went outside, where Harry was waiting. He even from behind, he looked dashing in his suit. Simple black, obviously tailored, and probably rather expensive. At the sound of the door closing, he turned, and his countenance changed immediately. His face fell slack, his jaw dropping open, his eyes glossing over a bit. I knew then I was looking pretty good.

"Like what you see?" I teased.

"You look absolutely divine," he said in all seriousness. I blushed, and he must have seen it, for his face took on a more typical smirk. He held out an arm. "Shall we?"

I nodded, accepting his arm, and we walked together.

The streets were bathed in an ethereal glow, making it seem like a scene from a fairytale. I leaned closer to Harry, grateful to be sharing this with him. Though I knew the state of our relationship might be a bit precarious, I also knew I wouldn't have it any other way. He was the only person I wanted to be with at that moment.

* * *

><p>"Beautiful," I smiled as we exited the theatre.<p>

"Mozart really was a genius," Harry agreed.

"Genius doesn't even begin to cover it!" And I launched into my usual rant about how impossible Mozart's story was, and yet it was real. Halfway through it, though, Harry did something that shocked me into stopping the rant: he _laughed_.

"And _what_, may I ask, is so funny?"

He grinned, sliding an arm over my shoulders. "Just you," he replied. "You and your impassioned speeches about things like S.P.E.W. and Mozart..." Trailing off, he gave me a sideways smirk, and winked. "It's highly amusing." I elbowed him in the side, which, infuriatingly, only made him laugh harder.

"I suppose we'd better head home," I said half-heartedly. I didn't really want to go back to reality. Reality was boring.

"Actually... I got a hotel room," Harry mumbled.

I stared at him for a good ten seconds before asking, in a hoarse, barely audible whisper, "You _what?_"

"I got a hotel room," he repeated. "It's nothing fancy, but it's somewhere we can stay for the night. Comfy bed, mini-bar... hot shower..." He seemed to be groping desperately for any method of persuading me to stay.

"But... if we leave now, we'll be in London by midnight."

"Yeah, but it's dark, and who knows how the roads will be—"

"Oh, yeah, damn that August weather," I stated dryly.

"And there are other people probably leaving the festival, heading back to London—"

"Or Hampshire, or Brighton, or any number of places," I pointed out.

"I just think it would be more... practical for us to stay in a hotel," he finished.

I hoped he couldn't see the mixture of prickly anxiety and outright fear that churned within me. A hotel room. I'd never been in a hotel room with a man. Other than my father, but that doesn't count. If I ever went on some sort of trip with a boyfriend in the past, I always got my own room. But I did see his point. Though the weather and traffic weren't great concerns, the darkness was a factor, and the roads often curved in awkward places, making driving at night far more dangerous. And it would be late, that was true. Damn him, he was probably right.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Let's go."

Harry smiled reassuringly, putting a hand at the small of my back, guiding me back to where the car was parked. This was going to be an interesting night.

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter is the textbook definition of a filler chapter. It's there for the sole purpose of transitioning to the next chapter. Speaking of which, Chapter 7 should be up later today! :D Fingers crossed! Review, please!


	7. The Plot Thickens

A/N: WARNING! Graphic scenes ahead! Skip over them if you don't want to read! I've marked the more, ahem... _descriptive_ parts, so that you know what not to read if you are uncomfortable doing so. Otherwise, enjoy Chapter 7!

* * *

><p>My heart seemed to be running a 500K race. Here I was, standing in a hotel room, with my best friend. I knew it shouldn't bother me so much—I'd spent the better half of our would-be seventh year of school in a tent with him. Ron was present for a great deal of it, yes, but even so, this shouldn't feel so different.<p>

But it did.

I took a breath, hoping to quash the anxiety, and took in my surroundings. The room was spacious, but not overly extravagant. There was a large bed on one side, with a sofa, a television, a dresser, a mini bar, a table and chairs, and a coffee maker. Just to the left of the main door was the entrance to the bathroom, which held a modestly sized bath and shower combo, a toilet, and two sinks.

I still wasn't sure about this whole situation. Why had he rented this room in the first place? It wouldn't take _that_ long to get back to London. If we left now, we would most likely be back by midnight, maybe half past. But he was absolutely insistent that we should stay in Bath for the night.

"So," I said, praying my voice wouldn't betray my uncertainty, "what now?"

Harry didn't respond other than to close the door behind me. I jumped slightly as his hands pulled my coat off, his Quidditch-roughened hands brushing lightly against the bare skin of my shoulders. Instantly, my previous fears and misgivings about the situation vanished. A tiny shiver trickled down my spine at the contact; I tried to ignore it, even though secretly, I hoped that he would touch me further, pull me closer, hold me tighter.

The expression "be careful what you wish for" couldn't be more correct.

Still not speaking, Harry moved to stand in front of me, his liquid emerald eyes smoldering. My breathing quickened, which I'm sure he noticed, as he lifted a hand to tenderly caress my cheek. He always knew just how to turn me into a puddle of overactive hormones and reckless lust. Damn him. Damn him and his beautiful eyes, and his gentle touch, and his bewildering power over me.

Inching closer, he raised the other hand to my shoulder, and lowering the first to my neck. His eyes remained fixed on my face, searching hungrily for... something. I couldn't fathom what that might be. But at the moment, I didn't particularly care.

In a moment, his lips were on mine, and our lips and tongues danced a familiar tango. His fingers buried themselves in my hair, the formerly loose waves reverting back to the usual bushy mess. I followed suit, dragging my fingers through his soft, ebony locks, relishing in the silky feel. His hands roamed downward, pulling my waist against his, and holding me there. I wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Merlin, he made me feel so good...

My heart sped up as he ventured to new territory: one hand worked its way up my side, resting just to the left of my breast. At one time, I might have stopped him right then, but he was hesitating plenty on his own. His touch was cautious, anxious, like he was afraid to go too far. A foreign, careless part of my mind overpowered all rational thought. Gently, I placed my hand over his, and guided it to my breast. He sucked in a breath, pulling back sharply. I glanced up at him, feeling a bit hurt.

"Hermione," he warned, his voice husky.

"Harry," I countered.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," he went on. "I might not be able to stop."

I lowered my gaze to his tie, hanging loose around his neck, then I looked up at him through my lashes. "What if I don't want you to stop?"

His eyes blazed, and he drew a shuddering breath. "Don't tease me, Granger."

I smirked and leaned in, breathing in his scent. "Wouldn't dream of it," I whispered, and closed the little remaining distance between us with a kiss.

* * * GRAPHIC SECTION AHEAD * * *

A split second later, our hands were roaming one another's bodies, and our mouths were becoming more intimately acquainted than I'd ever thought possible. Every inch of me was on fire, burning with passion and desire, and something else that I couldn't quite identify. All I knew was, I had never felt such bliss before in my life, and I didn't want it to ever stop.

Harry's hands worked their way around to my back, and he toyed with the zipper of my dress. I reached back and gently pushed his hand aside, since he seemed to be having trouble, and easily pulled the zipper down. With that done, Harry turned his attention to getting me out of the dress, and I turned mine to his suit. Really, he had _way_ too many layers. I was down to my knickers before I had even unbuttoned his shirt—beneath which was _another_ shirt. And I still had to unbuckle his belt and get his jacket and those pesky pants off. He really enjoyed making my life difficult.

Soon enough, however, we both stood in our underwear, grasping one another with desperation, as if we were each the link to the other's life. As our lips met for what was likely the millionth time, Harry carefully stepped backwards, in the direction of the bed. When stepping in tandem while snogging proved to be too difficult for both of us, he hoisted me up by my thighs, and I wrapped my legs around his waist while he led us to our intended destination.

I let out a girlish giggle as my back hit the soft, cushiony mattress. I was briefly surprised at how comfortable the bed was, but that train of thought was cut short as Harry lowered himself on top of me. My whole body shivered with anticipation and an aching need; I had never, _ever_ been this close to a man. Not even Harry. We'd had our fair share of late-night shenanigans, but all of these involved clothing, and did _not_ involve the arrival of . . . certain unmentionable appendages. I gasped in shock, and pleasure, as the appendage in question, still deterred by the final remaining articles of clothing, came in contact with my most sensitive spot.

"Ohhh," I moaned, my eyes fluttering closed.

Harry gave a dry, throaty growl, and his hands closed around the fabric of my knickers. I arched my back to make it easier to remove them. Once he had discarded them, he quickly shed his own. A tremor of excitement and, admittedly, fear, pulsed through me just before he entered. When he did, all coherent thought escaped me. I squeezed my eyes shut, relishing the feeling, my mouth hanging open in shock and bliss beyond my previous comprehension. I gave a soft cry of pain, which turned quickly into a moan, and then a shout of undeniable pleasure.

"_Harry_," I groaned as his thrusts increased in intensity and speed. I repeated his name over and over, my legs winding around his waist to give him easier access. My body was slick with sweat, as was his. They seemed to meld together at every point of contact, making us seem as one, rather than two people. "Harder," I rasped out, and he willingly obliged, providing sensations and emotions I had never experienced before in my life.

When we had surpassed the climax, he reluctantly withdrew, and rolled off, lying next to me, both of us panting heavily. The sheets were dampened with our sweat, our hair matted, our faces flushed. Even lying down, I could feel my legs turning to jelly, and knew I wouldn't be walking for some time.

_Bloody hell_.

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed.

I laughed in a whisper. "My thoughts exactly."

* * * END GRAPHIC SCENE * * *

* * *

><p>"...I'm just a little under the weather," I whispered into my cell phone, glancing surreptitiously toward the bathroom door. "I think it's a stomach flu."<p>

"So take a potion," Janet suggested.

I bit my lip. "Er... I ran out. And I don't have the ingredients to make any more."

"We have plenty here," she insisted.

"Janet—"

"Look, be straight with me," she interrupted me, her voice stern. "Are you really sick, or are you just trying to beg off work because of something personal?" I didn't respond, which, of course, she took as her answer. "Thought so. I won't ask what's going on, but you should know better than to try and call in sick when you work at a _hospital_. A _magic_ hospital," she added, her tone mocking.

I was about to protest, but right then, I heard the water from the shower turn off. Harry would come out in a few minutes. "Look, I've got to go," I whispered. "Can you just cover for me?"

"Sure thing. You owe me big for this, though."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Jan. Bye."

Without waiting for her to respond, I hung up the phone, tucked the sheet firmly under my arms, and sat back against the pillows. Seconds later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, clad in nothing but a fluffy, white towel.

_Merlin_.

Harry stopped, grinning wickedly. "Like what you see?" he teased. I vaguely recalled having used that very phrase in jest when he appraised my dress the night before.

"Undoubtedly," I smirked.

He laughed, crossing the room to my side of the bed. He bent over and kissed me quickly. "You'd better hurry if you want a shower. Check out's at 9:00."

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand, and let out an "EEP!" when I saw the time: it was already 8:30! I leapt from the bed, not even bothering to grab clothes to change into, or to take the sheet with me, and slammed the bathroom door behind me. My cheeks flamed as I heard Harry's laughter, but I couldn't help but smile to myself. Merlin, what his laugh did to me...

After the fastest shower of my life—ten minutes!—I wrapped a towel around myself, then rushed to gather my clothes. I'd left my more casual ensemble in the car, so I was forced to leave the hotel wearing the same little black dress I'd been wearing when I entered it. _Walk of shame, party of one_. However, I did take comfort in the fact that Harry, too, would be wearing his formal attire.

Once dressed, Harry and I left the hotel. The drive home was much shorter, as Harry took the more direct path, and we conversed lightly about nothing in particular. We arrived at my building around 10:30, and Harry insisted on walking me up to my flat.

"I could have just apparated," I pointed out.

"It's risky to apparate from a small, enclosed place, Hermione," he countered. "And besides, it's the gentlemanly thing to do. I have to make sure you get home safe."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, since I'm bound to get mugged and/or raped in this quiet, very safe part of London, at 10:30 in the morning."

"Hey, you never know."

"Hmm," was all I said. "Well, thank you. For everything."

He smiled, and we stopped by my door. "My pleasure," he replied, his eyes doing that stupid searching thing again. I held his gaze, refusing to appear timid, and he leaned forward. My heart jumped as his lips captured mine, reminding me of all the thoughts and feelings and sensations of last night.

"See you around," he grinned, and walked away, leaving me to slide down the wall in a puddle of rampant emotions. I placed a hand over my heart, as if that would quell its quickened beat. I took slow, calculated breaths, trying to see and think through the sudden dizziness.

"Oh, my," I breathed.

That was an understatement.

After a few minutes, I managed to regain some control over my body, and slowly stood up. It took me a little longer than normal to unlock the door, but at last, I was able to enter my flat. I dropped my purse by the door and leaned back against it. My head was still cloudy and my face felt warm. I giggled as I lifted my hand to my lips, still raw from where they had touched his. I thought back to that last kiss, and last night, and a warm, happy shudder pulsed through my body.

And then, there was a knock on my door.

Certain that it was Harry, I opened it with a glowing smile. But it was wiped off, and replaced with blatant shock, when I saw who _was_ there, holding a bouquet of yellow daisies.

"Patrick Ness?"

* * *

><p>AN: Dun, dun, _DUUUUNNN!_ Sorry, just had to throw that little cliffhanger in! Hope you liked this saucy little chapter! ;) Review!


	8. This Just Got Complicated

"P-Patrick?"

There he stood, in all his blonde, blue-eyed, ridiculously handsome glory. He gave a nervous smile, holding the daisies up a little higher. I realized, then, the impropriety of what I'd just said. "I-I mean... Mr. Ness," I attempted to appear professional. "Is everything all right? What can I help you with?"

"Er..." he bent his head forward and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "I don't... I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here."

I frowned. "Okay..."

"I mean, this is a little awkward, not to mention borderline stalking..."

Honestly, I hadn't even thought about it until he brought it up, but now I was a little wary. "How exactly _did_ you get my address?"

He blew air out, puffing his cheeks. "I got it from the receptionist at the hospital, with much coercion. I won't get into that, though." I made a mental note to fire Janet (even though I had absolutely no authority to do so). "And I don't even know why, I just..." He sighed. "I just really wanted to see you again."

I knew I should be a bit miffed, and perhaps scared, that a strange man had all but begged for my address, in order to show up here unannounced. But I couldn't help but find it absolutely adorable. And I supposed my irrational attraction to him didn't help matters any. I smiled at him, taking the flowers.

"That's oddly sweet of you," I said. "Thank you."

He returned my smile, then seemed to notice something on me. "You were going out at 10:00 in the morning?"

I felt myself blush. "Oh, er... I went with a friend on a little road trip, and we went to the theatre, and it turned into an overnight thing..." I trailed off, and the reality of what I'd just done sank in. I'd slept with Harry. As in, had sexual intercourse with him. I had sex with my best friend. _Bloody fucking Merlin_.

"Ms. Granger? Are you all right?"

I started back into reality. "Fine," I forced a smile. "And please, call me Hermione."

"All right... Hermione," he added, testing it out.

The smile remained on my face, but something about the whole interaction somehow felt... unnatural. I supposed it was just my scruples reminding me that this man was the father of one of my former patients, and as such, any attempts at a relationship would be extremely tricky. That was enough to warrant this squirmy hesitance.

Wasn't it?

"So, I'm going to try something," he said abruptly. "I haven't done this in a long time now, so I don't quite know what I'm doing, but I'm going to try it anyway." He lifted his eyes, looking directly into mine. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

I would be lying if I said I was expecting this, but I would also be lying if I said that it hadn't once crossed my mind that he might ask me out. I mean, hello, the man had tracked me down through the hospital receptionist, and showed up at my door with a bouquet of flowers! That says something. Even so, I couldn't help but feel an initial surprise... and that same hesitance.

"You're not married, are you?" I asked bluntly, and almost smacked myself for it.

He laughed. "No. I got divorced three years ago."

"But... what about your daughter? What would she think about this?"

Laughing again, he explained, "Sammie's the one who encouraged me to come. She kept saying, 'That Healer Granger sure was pretty.'"

I smiled at the matchmaking schemes of this little girl, but still couldn't stop feeling uneasy. "Patrick, I—"

I was about to answer when a loud crack sounded behind me. "Hermione, I spotted this in the car on my way home, so I thought I'd ret—oh."

Every ounce of color drained from my face as Harry's eyes landed on Patrick. I noted the jeans in his hands, and the color came rushing right back. I turned to Patrick, who seemed to be fighting an internal battle. Harry was still dressed in his suit, his hair slightly mussed, and his eyes bright. Or, well, they were. Until he saw the man standing in my doorway.

"Oh," he used Harry's word. "I see. Er... I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No!" I practically shrieked. "It's fine, Patrick. This is—"

"I know who he is," he interrupted. "Harry Potter."

Harry stepped forward, giving a tight, obviously forced smile. "In the flesh," he said in a clipped voice. "And you are...?"

"Patrick Ness. I'm... well, my daughter was one of Hermione's patients."

His eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

I'd had about enough. "Harry, would you excuse us for just a minute?" I asked in a whisper. "I need to... resolve something here."

He didn't look at me, but nodded. "I'll put the jeans in your room, then. Nice meeting you, Pat, ol' boy."

"Um, Patrick," he corrected. "I don't really go by Pat."

"Still nice," Harry sneered—since when did he _sneer?_—before disappearing into my bedroom. I waited until I heard him disapparate before I turned to Patrick. "It's not what it looks like," I said.

"Why don't you tell _me_ what you think it looks like?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Because I'm having a little trouble deciding."

I sighed. "I know it... it probably looks like I'm in a relationship with him, but I swear I'm not. We're just friends."

That was technically true. Although I had a sneaking suspicion that, were I to inform him of the previous night's activities with said "friend," he wouldn't be as prone to believe me. Good thing I wasn't planning on telling him.

"Are you sure?"

I smiled, trying to make it look convincing. "Positive. We're friends, nothing more." I squirmed from the obvious lie. "Okay, we're _best_ friends. Nothing more than _that_."

Patrick grinned, seeming satisfied. "So... back to my question." He looked carefully at me. "Dinner tonight?"

As I could find no logical reason for my earlier hesitation, I had no choice but to say yes. "I would be honored," I said. "What time?"

He grinned. "I'll be here at 6:00."

After a quick goodbye, I closed the door... and Harry appeared.

"I thought you'd left!"

"Nope," he shook his head. "Just apparated across the room."

"Damn it, Harry!" I yelled. "What's wrong with you?"

"I could say the same thing to _you!_" he shouted back. He grasped my shoulders, his face inches from mine. I felt momentarily dizzy from the proximity—would I never get used to that?—but forced myself to concentrate, as he spoke again. "How can you just agree to go out with this guy after what happened last night?"

My cheeks grew warm. "It... last night was a mistake."

"Oh, come on, I know you don't believe that!" he hissed, pulling me even closer. "I _know_ you felt something, Hermione Granger, and I'm not going to let you deny it any longer."

I frowned up at him. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Last night meant something, Hermione."

"Not that," I shook my head. "What do you mean, 'deny it any longer'?"

He paused, his mouth hanging open for a moment, before he inhaled deeply, and said in a low voice, "I love you."

I gasped aloud, and my eyes flew wider than I ever thought possible. "You _what?_"

"I love you," he repeated fervently. "I've loved you since the day you showed up on the train, a skinny, bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all. I've loved you all along, but I fought it, because you loved Ron. Or I thought you did, and I knew he fancied the pants off of you. So I figured I'd find someone else, or I'd just be content with knowing you were happy." He paused, taking another breath. "But then you and Ron broke up, and we went to the Room of Requirement that night... and I thought, 'This is it. This is my chance. If I don't do something now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. So I did something."

My eyes glazed over as I remembered. "You asked to kiss me."

"Yes, I did. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that you might actually say _yes!_ I thought at best, you'd tell me to take it slow, and at worse, you'd throw things at me and tell me to shove off. But you said _yes!_ And that night... was possibly the best night of my life... until last night, that is," he added, blushing. "And while we're on that subject... _you_ were the one to initiate everything. _You_ told me not to stop. _You _were the one screaming my name in pure ecstasy. And now you have the nerve to say it was a _mistake?_"

By now, I was feeling the telltale sting of tears behind my eyes. "Harry, I... I wasn't thinking clearly," I attempted lamely. "I was... driven by lust and the thrill of the moment. I didn't... I guess I didn't think that there would be... repercussions."

He stared at me, obviously hurt. "'Repercussions'?" he repeated. "That's what you call this? Damn it, Hermione, I _love_ you! Don't you get that? I _love_ you! I can't just pretend I don't anymore!"

"Harry, please stop," I sobbed, the tears finally leaking out.

"Tell me you don't love me!" he shouted. I looked pointedly at my shoes, but he wasn't having any of that. His hand slid beneath my chin, and somewhat roughly forced me to meet his emerald gaze. "Look me in the eye... and tell me you're not in love with me, too."

I opened my mouth to say the words, but they wouldn't come out. I couldn't inflict that kind of pain on my best friend. And in all honesty, I wasn't totally sure _what_ I felt. _Did_ I love him? Had I fallen for him, without even realizing it?

The ringing of my mobile phone saved me from having to respond. I answered, doing my best to keep my voice steady. "Hello?"

"Hermione, it's Jan. Hey, I know you've got your personal stuff going on, whatever that may be, but we really need you here. It's crazy! If you can come in for just a few hours, five tops, then that would be fantastic, and I wouldn't have to report you to Healer Thomson, or lose my job for lying about your whereabouts."

I sighed. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank Merlin! Okay, I'll see you in a bit!"

Hanging up, I looked at Harry. "I have to go in to work."

"Hermione, please," he switched instantly from anger to pleading. "Don't go."

"I have to," I said firmly. "They need me at work."

"They can wait!"

"No, Harry, they can't!" I screamed. "I have to go to work, because it's busy, and they need me, and I can't deal with this right now, so I'm going to go! And so are you! You're going to go home, have a cup of tea, and then, tomorrow, we're going to sit down and discuss this like civilized human beings. Okay?"

He didn't respond. He just stared for a moment, before suddenly, with a crack, he was gone. I heaved a sigh, collapsing onto the floor in a heap, shaking with sobs.

This just got _really_ complicated.

* * *

><p>AN: Wow. That was intense. I can't believe I came up with that. Dude. Anyways, did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know, please!


	9. The Secret's Out

A/N: Get ready for another intense chapter. And... GO!

* * *

><p>"You have <em>impeccable<em> timing," I said to Janet as I walked to her desk. As expected, Healers and nurses alike were bustling about the reception area, carting patients or supplies to and fro. "Oh, and by the way," I added, "you're fired."

"You're welcome," she smiled, "and why?"

I gave a smirk. "You're fired because you gave Patrick Ness my address."

Janet smirked right back. "Well, what was I supposed to do? He showed up here, out of the blue, begging to see you. When I said you weren't here, he insisted that he _had_ to see you, and asked for your address, or someplace I thought you might be. I gave him your number and address, because I had enough to deal with here, without adding his craziness to the stack." She waggled her eyebrows. "Did he show up there or something?"

"He most certainly did," I informed her. "He came with a bouquet of daisies and all but begged me to go to dinner with him—and I accepted. We're going out tonight."

"Mmm, sounds delightful," she winked. "Now get to work, Boss!"

I smiled, and did just that. It was a _madhouse!_ I tended to more than fifty patients within the space of an hour! There was something in the air today... something that made people do dangerous things.

Like declare their undying love to their best friends.

This thought came to me in the midst of wrapping a broken bone, and the shock of it caused me to pull a little too tight. "YIPE!" the patient, a twelve-year-old boy who had fallen off his broomstick, yelped in pain.

"Sorry about that," I apologized, somehow managing not to blush.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur, with hundreds of patients. Finally, at 4:00, it had slowed down enough that I could get away with leaving. I turned in some files to Janet, bidding her good night.

"Wait!" she called. "You never told me why I have impeccable timing!"

I gulped. Should I tell her the truth? Or should I veil it? I opted for the latter. "I was being sarcastic, Jan," I said with a strained smile. "I was just about to relax in a nice bubble bath when you called."

She snorted a laugh. "Well, I'm nothing if not a great organizer."

Rolling my eyes, I left the hospital, Jan's laughter echoing in the lobby.

* * *

><p>Patrick was late.<p>

Only ten minutes, but still.

I sat on the sofa, my legs crossed, and my foot twitching. I'd picked a cerulean dress tonight, strapless, with a white shrug, tied in the front. My black gladiator sandals fit the ensemble best; heels would be a bit much, as Patrick wasn't as tall as... others.

**As **_**Harry**_**,** a voice in my brain corrected.

_Quiet, you_, I shot back.

**Not a chance. You know this isn't going to work. Patrick's not right for you.**

_It's too early to tell that! I only just met him!_

**Exactly. And how long have you known Harry? Oh, that's right! More than ten years! Draw the obvious conclusion, Sherlock.**

_Harry and I are just friends_.

**Oh, come on, you don't really believe that, do you? In the last three years, has anyone else ever made you feel the way he does? Has anyone **_**kissed**_** you the way he does?**

_..._

**Didn't think so.**

_I hate you._

**Hey, I'm just your conscience, telling you what you already know.**

The sound of someone knocking on my door brought me out of my own head, and I started at the noise. After a moment, I regained some composure, and answered it.

"Hello, Patrick," I greeted.

He smiled. "You look amazing, Hermione."

"Thank you."

He escorted me out of the building, and into a waiting cab. We went to a restaurant in downtown London. We talked about the things we had in common... and then the salad came. I started feeling like this was a dead end.

**I told you so,** the annoying voice came back.

_Yes, yes, you're very smart. Shut up._

**I told you so, I told you so, I told you so, I told—**

"Excuse me for a moment, Patrick," I said, standing up. "I have to use the restroom, but I'll be right back."

He smiled graciously. "No problem. I'll be here."

I half-ran to the appropriately marked Ladies' Room, and heaved a sigh once within its safe haven. This was all _wrong_. Patrick, this dinner, me being here... I needed to leave. I racked my brains for something to say, some excuse to give for leaving. The only one I came up with was calling Jan and asking her to pretend to need me at the hospital again. It was better than nothing. I fished through my purse for my phone, and dialed her number.

"Another favor, Boss?" she answered.

"The last one for today, let's hope," I said. "I'm going to pretend you're calling me in to work again, so that I can get out of this date."

"That bad, huh?"

I sighed. "Let's just say, Patrick will make a nice husband for _someone else_."

"Got it. Proceed."

Taking a breath, I launched into a rehearsed (sort of) dialogue, making it sound like it was busy, and they needed me at work. Patrick looked up as I approached, his brow furrowed with concern. As I hung up the phone, with Jan saying, "You owe me details," as I did, I turned to look at him, my expression apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Patrick, but I'm going to have to go. They need me at the hospital, and my boss is really a stickler, so I—"

"Hey there, _slut_."

My blood ran chill at the sound of my least favorite word in the English language. I turned around, coming face to face with the last person I ever expected: _Jack_.

"What are you doing here?"

He smirked, then turned to Patrick. "Jack Templeton. I'm the boyfriend."

"_Ex_-boyfriend," I corrected.

Patrick stood. "I'm sorry, is there a problem? Because we're on a date."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is," he said. "I just think it's only fair that you know who you're on a date with."

"Go home, Jack," I insisted. "You have no business butting in like this."

He turned to me, one eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" he asked, then produced a small tape recorder, and pushed play.

And as my own voice rang out, I felt my stomach drop to my knees.

"_You asked to kiss me."_

"_Yes, I did. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that you might actually say yes! I thought at best, you'd tell me to take it slow, and at worse, you'd throw things at me and tell me to shove off. But you said yes! And that night... was possibly the best night of my life..."_

"Oh, my God," I whispered. "How the hell did you—"

"Shh," Jack sneered. "This is the best part."

"_...You were the one to initiate everything. You told me not to stop. You were the one screaming my name in pure ecstasy. And now you have the nerve to say it was a mistake?"_

"_Harry, I... I wasn't thinking clearly. I was... driven by lust and the thrill of the moment. I didn't... I guess I didn't think that there would be... repercussions."_

"'_Repercussions'? That's what you call this? Damn it, Hermione, I _love_ you! Don't you get that? I _love_ you! I can't just pretend I don't anymore!"_

"_Harry, please stop."_

"_Tell me you don't love me!"_

With a soft _click_, it stopped, and I stared at the tape recorder in horror.

"I was coming to bring back some things of yours," he said calmly. "When I heard you two fighting, it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up." He grinned. "I knew you were hiding something. _I knew it!_"

"Hermione," a quiet, sad voice drew my attention. I turned to Patrick, my heart breaking at the look on his face. "You... you slept with him? You slept with Harry?"

There was no talking my way out of this. Resigned, I nodded my head. For the second time that day, tears streamed down my face. After a moment of silence, Patrick turned on his heel and left.

Jack laughed quietly. "Well, you can't say you didn't see that coming."

Instantly furious, I turned on him, slapping him so hard across the face that my hand actually started to throb. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?" I shouted, and I could see every head in the restaurant turning to us. "ARE YOU HAPPY YOU GOT YOUR REVENGE, YOU WERE PROVEN RIGHT? YOU BETTER ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS, JACK, BECAUSE IF I EVER SEE THAT SMUG-ARSE LITTLE SMILE OF YOURS _EVER_ AGAIN, I'M GOING TO PERSONALLY MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL!"

"That's it," the manager appeared. "Take this outside, please!"

"I'm done," I told him, and Jack. "Done with you, and your bloody insecurities, and your insistence on being the damn winner all the time! I'm _done_, Jack! Don't _ever_ come near me again!"

And I slapped him again, just for good measure, before sprinting out the door.

Once I was in a safe enough spot, I apparated to the first place that came to mind, with friendly faces and listening ears.

The Burrow.

* * *

><p>AN: Holy. Crap. Did I really just go there? I _did!_ Whoa. That's some crazy stuff, that is. Four chapters in just a few days! Excellent! Don't forget to review!


	10. The Truth

"Now, let me get this straight," Ron said, looking at his hands, which were clasped in front of him. "You're telling me that, on the last night of our last year, you and Harry kissed in the Room of Requirement, then you started a sort of 'friends with benefits' thing, and that's been going on for the last three years?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

"And last night, you and Harry slept together in a hotel room in Bath?"

Cringing, I nodded.

We were in the sitting room at the Burrow, and the rest of his family was out (how did I manage to get lucky on _that_ account?). Luna was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, as none of us had actually eaten yet. I'd only eaten half of my salad from my date with Patrick before my escape to the bathroom, and then... well...

"That's not the worst of it though," I grumble.

He gives a short, humorless laugh. "There's _more?_"

"Two days ago," I began, not daring to look at him, "I met a guy at work. He came in with his daughter, who had some pretty bad burns from bubotuber pus. Right off the bat, I was kind of attracted to him, but figured he was probably married, or at the very least, wouldn't want to complicate things with his daughter. Then, this morning, he showed up at my house, asking me to go to dinner. I accepted, and at dinner, Jack just randomly turned up."

"He _what?_"

I forged ahead. "He had... overheard an argument I had with Harry... during which he... well, he told me he loved me." Ron's eyes very nearly popped right out of his skull. "We argued over last night, and what that meant, and I ended up blowing him off. Then, at dinner, Jack showed up, playing a recording of our fight."

He sighed, pushing his hair away from his face as he leaned back in his seat. "Bloody hell," he mumbled. "One little secret, and all hell breaks loose."

"Don't I know it."

"Why didn't you tell Luna and me in the first place?" he asked.

I bit my lip. "I don't know. It just seemed like something we should keep between the two of us."

He nodded once. "I guess I can see that. But... did you really think you could keep going on like this, and just keep it under wraps forever?"

"I didn't think it would go this far," I admitted. "I figured, by now, one or both of us would have found someone we wanted to marry, we'd just go back to being friends, and that would be that."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, you should have been with him?"

I frowned. "No, of course not."

"Really? 'Cause it occurred to pretty much everyone else."

"I beg your pardon?"

Ron laughed slightly. "Some of us actually had a pool going for a while, making bets when you two would finally sh—er, get together." His cheeks colored, and I glared as I registered what he had been about to say. He cleared his throat. "And then this guy Jack, and most of his girlfriends from the past three—"

"Wait, wait," I cut in. "It was just Dianne."

He shook his head. "Actually, the only one who didn't assume there was something between you two was... oh, what's her name... that girl he met at Auror training..."

"Sheila," I provided.

"That's it!" he grinned, snapping his fingers and pointing to me. "Sheila! Yeah, Sheila broke up with him because of something to do with religion."

"She wanted to be a nun."

"Yeah," he grimaced. "Blimey, what a way to be dumped. I felt for him when he told me about that. I said, 'Well, look at it this way, it can't get any worse than—'"

"RON!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Focus!" I took a deep breath before continuing. "So, if every one of his girlfriends except Sheila was accusing him of seeing me on the side, why didn't he tell me?"

Ron sighed, shaking his head again. "Hermione, don't you see? The poor bloke's mad about you! And he was so afraid of ruining your friendship, he did everything in his power to keep it from you. Besides, almost every time he stopped dating a girl, you were still with some other guy. He didn't want to be the guy that tries to steal another guy's girl."

I gazed at the floor, drawing shaky, uneven breaths as I digested this. He really did love me. All this time, and I never knew. How could I have been so stupid?

"Hermione? You okay?"

"I'm not sure," I whispered.

"Anything I can do?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I just... I have to fix this."

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "How're you going to do that?"

My first inclination was to say I had no idea. But as I sat there, mulling everything over in my head, I realized something. It smacked me like I'd just run headlong into a brick wall. Every touch, every kiss, every treasured moment with Harry, was far better than any I'd had with anyone else. I'd always been more comfortable with him than even Ron, and with the added physical aspect of our relationship... we seemed to somehow fit together, without even trying. And when Jack had issued his little ultimatum, him or Harry, there was never even a shadow of a doubt in my mind as to who my choice would be. It was Harry.

It was _always_ Harry.

Abruptly, I shot up from my seat, making Ron jump a bit. "Tell Luna I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to take a rain check on dinner. I've got do to something _now_."

"But, what—wait! Where are you going? _Hermione!_"

* * *

><p>The lights at Grimmauld Place were dark, but I wasn't entirely convinced that Harry wasn't there. It was too early for him to be asleep, but he did sometimes like to sit in the darkness and think. I didn't bother knocking, just bursting in through the front door instead. If the crash of the door didn't announce my presence, Mrs. Black's incessant shrieking would (they never did figure out to get rid of that portrait).<p>

"Harry!" I shouted. "Harry Potter, where the devil are you?"

No answer. I didn't stop there. I scoured the whole house, tossing a few curse words at Mrs. Black ("FILTHY MUDBLOOD! DISRESPECT ME IN MY OWN HOUSE!"), and checking each room twice. When I was finally certain that Harry wasn't there, I went to the next place that came to mind: Godric's Hollow.

I walked purposefully down the main road, which was deserted, save for a jogger, an elderly woman... and a man with messy, black hair. I quickened my pace to a near-run, not taking my eyes off of him. He went into the cemetery, and I full-on sprinted to catch up with him. At last, I reached him, near his parents' grave.

"My God, you're a hard man to find!"

He started, and turned to face me. His face hardened when he saw me. "Well, you found me, didn't you?" he snapped. "So what do you want?"

I let myself relax, meeting his gaze. "I want to apologize."

"Okay," he said tersely.

"You were right," I went on. "Last night did mean something. The past _three years_ have meant something. I just didn't know exactly _how much_ they meant to me, until about an hour ago."

"Sure," he deadpanned, obviously not believing me.

"Harry... Jack heard us arguing in my flat."

His eyes sparked. "What the hell was Jack doing at your flat?"

"He was returning some things I'd left at his place, but that's not the point. The point is, he heard us, and he had the gall to... record it."

"Oh," his face paled.

I gulped. "And he played the recording for Patrick."

"_Oh_."

"Yeah."

Harry groaned. "Damn that son of a bitch... I'm sorry, Hermione."

I shrugged one shoulder. "It is what it is. I was in the process of trying to get out of the date, anyway."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Prince Charming not so charming?"

Despite the obvious insult to Patrick, I smiled. "He's a nice enough guy, and he'll make a great husband one day... for somebody else." I gave another shrug. "But he and I just... it wouldn't work." I thought I saw the hint of a smile on Harry's relief. I took a breath, preparing myself for what I would say next. "Besides... it wouldn't be fair for me to date him... when I love someone else."

Harry's eyes widened, and they met mine. "You... you love..."

"I love you, Harry," I said it aloud for the first time. His mouth hung open, and he stared at me wordlessly for several seconds. I felt myself frown. "Erm... did you hear me, Harry? I just said I love you. Would you like me to say it again? You seem to be having trouble grasping that conce—_mmph!_"

He kissed me mid-word, cutting off the need for speech entirely. His arms locked around my waist, holding me tightly, as if he feared I might change my mind and try to make a break for it. I smiled, and responded by putting a hand on his face and kissing him back. He hoisted me up, and my legs found their way around his waist, and my hands moved into his hair. Though my eyes remained closed, the sudden sideways breeze told me he was spinning around. How cliché. Not that I minded.

When we parted, he rested his forehead against mine, smiling bigger than I'd ever seen him do before. "You don't know how long I've wanted you to say that," he said, his voice husky and passionate.

I smiled back at him. "I love you," I repeated for the third time. "Get used to it."

"I don't think I'll be able to."

"Well, I guess that's okay," I leaned closer, "because neither will I."

"Complaining?"

I kissed him gently. "Not in the slightest."

Let me just conclude by saying that I am not a slut. I'm just a girl who make some bad choices, which, in hindsight, ended up leading to the best choice of my life: Harry. And honestly, if those bad choices and hurt feelings were really necessary to get me here, I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm mostly satisfied with the ending. I think my biggest problem is the fact that _it's over! _Sad day! This has been so much fun to write! I want to thank everybody who has reviewed. Your opinions and criticism are greatly appreciated! Also, I want to thank my ex-guy-friend (even if he is a douche) for being the inspiration for this story. And finally, thanks to my pillow, who, even when it gets soaked with my tears, and when I punch it in the face repeatedly, is always there to hold my head up. ;) Peace 'n' love, folks! Check out my other stories! :D


	11. Epilogue

A/N: Bonus chapter! :D I know I said that the story was over, but when I went back and reread it, I realized I had neglected to tie up a few loose ends. So, here's the _official_ ending. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Hermione... Hermione, come on. It's time to get up, love."<p>

Mmm, I'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Ten more minutes," I groaned into my pillow.

"You're going to be late for work."

"DAMN IT!"

I launched myself out of bed, tripped over a misplaced pair of pants... and had an eerie sense of déjà vu. I threw on a pair of khaki pants, and a thin burgundy sweater over a white tank top, calling that good enough. Then, I raced to the bathroom to tame the bird's nest that, unfortunately, was my hair.

Using a few bobby pins, I managed to pull it all back into a semi-respectable-looking messy bun.

A familiar, handsome face appeared just above my shoulder, and a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist. I couldn't help but smile as I leaned back against him. It had been exactly three days since Harry and I became an official couple, and already, it was the best relationship I'd ever had. Each new day seemed to sparkle, and every kiss was... for lack of a better word, _magical_.

"Stay home today," he mumbled into my neck.

"I can't," I sighed. "I've got a junior staff meeting first thing, plus I'll have routine checkups, emergency care, and all kinds of paperwork. Besides," I added, narrowing my eyes at him, "I've already missed more than enough work for you."

He smirked. "And you loved every second of it."

I felt myself blush. "I'm going to work today, Harry. But tonight, I'm all yours."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I consider myself warned."

With a quick kiss, Harry sent me off, and I disapparated.

* * *

><p>"Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence."<p>

Healer Thomson. The most odious man alive. There he sat, in his fancy chair at the head of the table, hazel eyes narrow and judgemental.

"I'm sorry I'm late, sir," I apologized, though I knew it was pointless. "I overslept."

"Tell that to the patients who were kept waiting in your absence."

I fought the impulse to roll my eyes. I looked across the table to Jan, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. Glaring, I tossed a tiny, crumpled piece of paper at her. She tossed it back, and winked. Then the meeting began.

After almost an hour of being told stuff we already knew, we left the meeting room to attend to our duties. On my way to my office, I was handed a clipboard. The first name on the list of checkups made me stop in my tracks: _Samantha Ness_.

_Shite._

I took a breath, bracing myself for the inevitable, and went on my way.

After grabbing some necessary tools for the following checkups, I headed for the room where Sammie—and, most likely, her father—would be waiting. Sure enough, I was greeted by two matching pairs of blue eyes.

"Hello, Sammie," I smiled, bypassing Patrick for the moment to focus on my patient.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"Let's have a look at that burn mark," I said. She tilted her head back a bit, and I examined a spot on her right cheek, about an inch below her eye. There had been a nasty third-degree burn mark there for a while, but now, her skin was flawless.

I grinned. "Looks like it's gone, Sammie. You won't be needing another appointment, as long as you stay away from those bubotubers."

The little girl beamed and threw her arms around me, giving me a tight hug, much as she had just a few days ago. And then, she took off like a shot for the front desk.

Sighing, I turned to Patrick. I hadn't gotten a good look at his face, so I had no idea what to expect. Surprisingly, he looked calm, collected, and apologetic. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully for a moment, then he spoke. "Hey, I'm sorry about the other night. I shouldn't have just taken off."

"Completely justified, under the circumstances."

"No, it's not," he shook his head. "We weren't even in a relationship, for heaven's sake! It was just one date. And I let myself get too invested in it, and then... when that arsehole came in with his tape recorder—by the way, how did he just happen to have a tape recorder on him?"

I rolled my eyes. "Jack's a reporter. He doesn't leave the house with his pen, lots of paper, and a tape recorder. He says the news never sleeps."

"Ah," he nodded. "Well, anyway... when he came in... I lost it. I just..." Patrick took a few deep breaths before he went on. "My ex-wife cheated on me. With her college boyfriend. So... it just brought back bad memories, and feelings that I thought I'd gotten over and... well... you know what happened."

"I understand, really," I smiled. "You have nothing to apologize for. I probably would have done the same thing, had I been in your shoes."

Patrick looked at me a long moment. "You're with him now, aren't you?"

My cheeks warmed. "With who?"

"Harry."

I tried not to smile, but it didn't work. "Yes, I am," I mumbled bashfully.

He laughed quietly. "I figured."

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "I... well, I was attracted to you... but I just—"

"It's okay," he stopped me. "You weren't the only one who noticed how little we have in common that night."

I heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad it wasn't just me."

Patrick grinned. "I'm happy for you. I could tell, just seeing you two together, that you would make a good couple."

"Thank you, Patrick," I said. "That means a lot."

With a smile and a tip of his head, he walked away. I watched him leave, as I had before, but this time, with hopes that we might be friends someday. But if not, that was okay. At least we'd resolved that little... issue.

"Healer Granger, can I borrow you for a second!"

_Snap_. Back to reality. I sighed and went to work.

(break)

I let myself into Harry's flat, smiling as the heavenly aroma of various forms of pasta and garlic bread filled my nostrils. Right on cue, Harry appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron, and wearing that sexy little smirk of his.

"I'm sorry, am I dying?" I joked.

"Hello to you too," he teased back, kissing me on the cheek. "How was work?"

I put my purse by the door. "Patrick came in today."

He turned to face me abruptly. "Really? With his daughter, or by himself?"

"Sammie was one of my checkups."

"Ah. Continue."

I exhaled sharply, letting the relief wash over me all over again. "We talked a bit, and we both apologized and... it's good. He's good. Everything's good."

"I'm glad," Harry smiled.

"So, what inspired you to make all my absolute favorite foods?" I asked with a smirk.

"Baby, you _are_ my inspiration."

I snorted a laugh. "Oh, God, that's _way_ too cheesy!"

"You love me, admit it."

"Merlin knows why, but yes, I do."

He chuckled softly, kissing me lightly on the nose. "I love you too," he whispered, and our lips met. Flames spread through every inch of me, urging me closer. We soon became locked in an epic battle of tongues and lips, each fighting to have the upper hand... until a strange, unpleasant smell caught my attention.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Is something burning?"

"Aw, _fu—!_"

It was moments like these that really made life worth living.

* * *

><p>AN: _Bahaha! _I've always wanted to use that as an ending. Okay, this really _is_ the end, guys. Hope you've all enjoyed this story as much as I have! Review!


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